


The Runaways

by PaddyWack



Series: Second Chances (In Which Altair Utterly Fails At Parenting But His Brothers Love Him Anyway) [5]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Child Abuse, Coming of Age, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyWack/pseuds/PaddyWack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They finally get their second chance.</p>
<p>Or, the one where Altair becomes the guardian of his three younger brothers and fails at life. Repeatedly. Nobody ever said it was going to be easy.</p>
<p>They were totally right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> SO. Long time coming, but here's the official novelization (fancy wording for shitty multi-chap fic full of bad writing) of the child abuse...thing. I'll go ahead and post the warnings here for future chapters: there will be reference to graphic depictions of child abuse, trauma, foul language and just generally a terrible upbringing. Please read at your own risk.
> 
> First few chapters will skim through the oneshots already posted, nothing too in-depth. This will be a relatively short fic. I'm thinking five chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Even in its darkest passages, the heart is unconquerable. It is important that the body survives, but it is more meaningful that the human spirit prevails.”_

_-i-_

Life can get pretty complicated sometimes. A man gets dealt a bad hand, he either overcomes and conquers his obstacles, or he falls headfirst into the abyss and lets himself be swallowed up without so much as a whimper. Sometimes there are a few who scratch and claw and kick their entire life, fighting right up until the very end, until their lungs just give out and their heart simply quits. Sometimes people battle demons no one ever knows about. Sometimes there are struggles going on inside a person that would bring others to their knees and make them start crying out for mercy from whatever god they believe in.

 

Sometimes there are people who never want for anything, people who are borne with silver spoons in their mouths and credit cards with no limits clutched in their little pink hands. Sometimes there are people who breeze through life without a care in the world because they are safe, because they have nothing at all to worry about and all they have to do is snap their fingers to get what they want. They never have to consider what it’s like to feel fear. They don’t have to comfort themselves with the futile hope that maybe – maybe one day there will be a light waiting for them at the end of the tunnel, that maybe their life isn’t as insignificant as they’ve been told and that they aren’t really all alone in the world. They just smile and keep on going, because their rose-colored glasses protect them from what life is really like.

 

Altair hates those people.

 

He hates them because they are normal. He hates them because they look him over every day without a thought, because they ignore the bruises and hisses of pain, because even with two ears they don’t know how to really listen to a person. Even the ones who aren’t blinded by dollar signs, the ones who can appreciate the little things in life and have beautiful laughs, he hates them just as much. 

 

He hates everybody.

 

He doesn’t have to be told it’s stupid and unfair to them, he knows it is already. Those people can’t help who they are any more than he can help who he is. It’s just the way things are. He gets that, really, he does. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it, that doesn’t mean he has to accept it and let it go.

 

Over the years that hate has been his one and only constant, the one thing he can rely on unconditionally. People come and go, promises are made and broken, the world keeps spinning on and on and time never stops, but that festering thing in his chest has remained like a faithful beast called to heel by its master. It grows and consumes whatever he wishes, whatever he believes should be despised. It has kept him up, like a crutch, has given him the drive to put one foot in front of the other and not fall into the darkness singing so sweetly in his dreams.

 

Without it, he knows he would be nothing. He would fall and he would shatter like glass on the floor, fade away like a ghost – like Mom was; gone, a puff of smoke, a final breath seconds before a deadly mix of chemicals finish their poison and stop a weak heart inside an already still chest.

 

Altair hates so deeply and so fiercely because it is the only thing that keeps him going. It’s the only thing that gives him the strength to protect the others because they can’t do it themselves, because they don’t even understand how. They’re too small, too young, to begin to know why they should.

 

So he does it for them – has done it since he was ten and found Mom lying unconscious in the middle of the bathroom floor, an empty bottle of pills clutched in one hand and the other lying cold and stiff in a puddle of Dad’s prized whiskey.

 

Since the very second a hand was laid on him in misplaced anger after her funeral, since the first hateful word spat in his face and the impression of large hands squeezed into his slack arms, since the moment he was unfairly blamed for every little thing that went wrong just because he was nearby, since that terrible, dark day when hands that were only ever meant to guide and to love took his world and tore everything apart – Altair has hated with every single cell inside his body, with every pulse of his beating heart.

 

And yet after all these years of pain and suffering, after every knockdown, drag out fight that left him passed out in the middle of the floor because the agony was just too much to take, after all the blood and broken bones and bruises and scars that he has been forced to endure, Altair can’t even manage to lift his gaze from the scuffed, dirty loafers he’s wearing braced against the shiny tiled floor to meet his father’s eye.

 

The courtroom is completely silent. If someone were to drop a pen in that moment, it’d sound like a nuclear bomb going off. He shifts and winces at the sound of fabric rubbing together. He wishes it wouldn’t be so quiet, maybe then he wouldn’t have to listen to the erratic pounding of his heart slamming against his chest, or his loud, uneven breathing scraping from the rawness of his throat.

 

The adrenaline is almost too much to handle in such a closed, respectable place. He’d like to scream and throw something – create chaos for the sake of chaos. Anything to make the whole thing be over already so that they could go home. With Malik.

 

He is seconds away from flipping the desk and ripping his hair out when finally, mercifully, the judge lets out a defeated sigh and leans back into her chair with a creak of stretched leather.

 

“I am not confident in the abilities of children raising children in the place of an actual parent figure,” she says slowly, watching with uncannily sharp eyes as Altair lifts his chin just that little bit extra so it becomes a challenge instead of simple comfort. “And I firmly believe that the three of you would benefit greatly from one of the many foster families that the state helpfully supports, rather than something so potentially unstable as your current situation.”

 

He feels so incredibly tense that his spine is threatening to snap in half from the pressure. A glance to his right lets him see that his brothers are no better off than himself, each of them stiff and sickly pale from nerves. As he looks at them, Desmond’s eyes flit over to his anxiously and hold. His bottom lip is trembling, and he looks so terrified that Altair’s conviction breaks like a twig in a windstorm and has him stepping out just as Desmond crumples and reaches up to be held.

 

 _Still too skinny_ , he thinks angrily as he scoops the youngest up. Desmond is underweight, scrawny and looking like a little five year old rather than his actual eight years of age. He gives the others a second glance as he straightens back up, noting the extra bulk the two of them have managed to put on in the past few weeks. They look okay. Not as healthy as he’d like them to be, but it’s a good start and a damn sight better than what they were just two months ago.

 

But is it enough to convince this woman that they should stay together?

 

Altair grits his teeth and faces the judge’s stand once more, fighting the snarl that threatens to twist his features as his father’s voice barks out in protest from the table behind them.

 

“How is that fair? That shouldn’t be allowed, it’s corrupting this entire process! Put him down, you hear me? You are _not_ going to turn him against me anymore than you already have, you little queer ass traitor – “

 

“I will not have that kind of language in my court,” the judge snaps loudly, her voice sharp as a whip crack as it cuts off their father mid-insult. Desmond flinches in his arms and Altair tightens his hold with a reassuring murmur. “Mr. Davis, I ask that you please control your client before I have him held in contempt.”

 

A slight argument breaks out between lawyer and defendant, and then quiets once more as the judge fixes her eyes back on Altair with a deep frown creasing the space between her eyebrows. “I have listened to countless stories like yours over the years, young man. What you are asking for will not be easy. You are in for a long and difficult journey, and I pray that you are prepared for it. I hope you take this second chance as the blessing it is and do well with it, do you understand me?” She waits for the uncertain nod Altair responds with before letting slip a faint, amused smile that shows just a hint of teeth. “Good. With that being said, I hereby grant full guardianship of the minors Ezio Auditore, Connor Kenway and Desmond Miles to their eldest brother…Altair Ibn-La’Ahad.”

 

He ends up having to kneel in the middle of the courtroom after his knees suddenly give out, but it’s okay because his brothers are right there to hold him steady when he does, laughing and smiling and jostling around like a pile of clumsy puppies. He manages to catch the judge’s eye among all the shifting limbs and gives her a grateful smile, mouthing ‘thank you’ over and over again.

 

He had hated her the second he and his brothers had come through the doors earlier that morning. He had been convinced her decision would send them back into their father’s home, or torn apart for strangers to adopt. But, instead, she’s just sitting up there in her stand and giving him the barest of smiles, nodding modestly back in response to his swelling gratitude like she didn’t just reveal herself to be some kind of guardian angel finally come to deliver them to paradise.

 

Altair grips his brothers tighter and, amid the swearing and cursing of the man they once knew as their father, pulls them out into the warm afternoon sun.

 

_-ii-_

 

The first three months of adjusting to their new life are so rocky and stressful that Altair sometimes catches himself wondering if he really did make the right choice. He constantly worries that maybe it’s because he isn’t good enough, that the judge was right and he’s too young for this. How can he try and be a parent to his brothers when he can’t even tell the difference between whole milk and two percent? He stresses over it like a dog with a bone, chewing and gnawing away until it feels like his teeth are seconds from breaking under the grinding pressure.

 

It wouldn’t be so awful really if they weren’t constantly fighting. They go at each other more now than they ever did before, punching and kicking and biting like wild animals hell bent on killing each other – and it drives Altair up the proverbial wall. He’s never been much of one for yelling, but two weeks into their new arrangement and his throat is hoarse from how much he has screamed and shouted at all of them.

 

If it weren’t for Malik, he knows they would all have ripped each other to shreds by now. Malik keeps them relatively grounded. His temper is a formidable opponent and his tongue like steel when he chooses to unleash it on the four of them. They all know to sit down and shut-up if Malik gives them the ‘look’; a narrow-eyed, tight lipped scowl that can easily burst one’s hair into flames if so desired. Altair loves him for it, for how he can step up and be a parent seemingly without any effort at all and for caring enough to do it in the first place.

 

They would be nothing without Malik.

 

He thinks as much even now, their third month winding down to a few more days, and only a handful of weeks left before school is scheduled to begin. Malik has gone out of his way to get his hands on supplies from work for the boys to use and even dipped into his savings to purchase them a couple of new outfits. He had given Altair a verbal whipping of epic proportions when he’d tried to stop him, and since that day Altair has learned to let Malik do as he pleases or risk a lashing so awful even his own father would cower in fear.

 

“I spoke with the school and set up a meeting with Desmond’s teachers in the morning.” Altair looks up from the sprawl of documents in front of him with a slight frown as Malik comes into the room. “They’ll want to speak with you about the situation, give you a chance to see what they recommend.”

 

Altair grunts and grabs a pamphlet from the mess of papers. “Recommend for what? He’s going to be fine.” 

 

“Altair,” He tries not to wince at the warning in Malik’s tone and looks back up with feigned indifference. “Talk to them and hear what they say. If Desmond starts to have any kind of trouble, at least you will be better prepared.”

 

“What about Connor and Ezio? Should I go gossiping to their teachers too?”

 

Malik quirks an eyebrow at him and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry, am I wrong in assuming that you care if your brothers adjust well or not in a new school full of strange people they have never met in their life? Because, forgive me, I thought that would be somewhat important.” He gives a sarcastic laugh and shakes his head. “How silly of me to think you would want them to be comfortable. God forbid they settle in with understanding faculty members and actually make some friends.”

 

“I just don’t see the point of it,” he snaps after a moment, bitter at the thought of having to ask for special treatment for either himself or his brothers. “They don’t need people pitying them, Malik. We’re doing fine like we are without anybody hugging us and kissing our cheeks every time we go around a corner.”

 

“Is that what you think will happen?” Malik comes up and drops into the seat at his side, frowning thoughtfully as he pushes the pamphlet Altair isn’t reading down onto the table. “Altair, is that what you think? That people will treat you like some kind of charity case if they happen to know a few details of what the four of you went through?”

 

He stares at his own hands and shrugs a tight shoulder. Malik sighs and drops his forehead against it. “You idiot, of course they aren’t going to act that way. These teachers are distinguished, respectable people with only their student’s best interests in mind.” Altair feels him knock against his shoulder reproachfully. “They were once my colleagues, I trust them to handle the situation appropriately.”

 

“Maybe _you_ do,” he mumbles. “I don’t know them, I don’t trust them.”

 

“I won’t ask you to.” Malik straightens and uses the tips of his fingers to turn Altair’s face toward him, slotting their noses together so easily it’s like every dip and bend on their person was made only for the other. This close it’s hard to see much of anything, but Altair can feel the slight curve of Malik’s bottom lip turned up in a reassuring smile and it eases the tension between his shoulder blades. “I ask only that you trust me. Can you do that?”

 

“You know I do.”

 

The smile presses against his own lips in a chaste kiss that still manages to send a thrill down his spine and has his mouth falling open for more. Malik rumbles a chuckle as he pulls away and begins straightening the legal documents spread haphazardly over the table. “Good. Then also trust me to help you organize this mess before it ends up in the trash.”

 

“That was _one_ time – “

 

“And the _only_ time, seeing as how you were nearly arrested for carelessly losing the court’s signature and your guardianship agreement! Now stop your bitching and help me before I staple each of these pages to your ridiculous face.”

 

The judge had been right when she said it wasn’t going to be easy. In fact, Altair’s pretty sure this is going to be the most painful, hardest thing he will ever have to do in his entire life. He knows it will break him over and over, and that it will never stop hurting no matter how many times it happens. But he also knows he loves his brothers, that he loves Malik, and that even when things get hard they will still have someone to lean on. Things are going to change so much for them – but at least one thing will stay the same. They will always have each other.


	2. Chapter 2

_-i-_

“Squirrel.”

 

“That one’s hard!”

 

“No, it isn’t. You just spelled it three words ago.”

 

“It’s too hard, I want a different one.”

 

“Fine. Caterpillar.”

 

“You’re being mean!”

 

“Just sound it out, Desmond. Neither of those are hard words.”

 

Altair tries not to cave under the hurtful look his littlest brother throws at him from the floor. “I want Connor to help me again. He doesn’t pick the hard words.”

 

“Connor lets you spell them however you want and says they’re right. You’re not really learning anything.” He shuffles the index cards in his hands and raises an eyebrow expectantly. “From the top, okay? Sunday.”

 

Desmond sighs dramatically and sprawls on his back spread-eagled. He spells ‘Sunday’ without hardly any trouble, and even the next couple of words after that. But when they get back to ‘squirrel’, he hesitates and trips himself up with self-doubt, replacing the q with a k and saying two l’s instead of just the one.

 

Altair struggles to not let his irritation show and makes him try it again. Desmond frowns but does as he’s told, repeating the incorrect spelling three more times as his cheeks flush a splotchy red and his eyes shimmer with frustrated tears when he continues to get them wrong. His little fists grip into the carpet as they go back and forth some more until finally the tears spill over down the sides of his head into his hair when he can’t even get the first letter right anymore.

 

Altair scoffs and drops the cards onto the couch. “What’s wrong now? Why are you crying?”

 

“I’m not!”

 

“You’re not?” he asks skeptically. “Then what do you call that?”

 

“I’m _not_ crying!”

 

“Desmond, Jesus, stop being such a baby!” he finally snaps, patience worn thin after spending the afternoon repeating the same words over and over with hardly any progress at having them correctly spelled back. He scrubs a hand through his hair and scowls as Desmond sits up and smacks a fist on the carpet.

 

“I’m not a baby! You’re a baby!” Altair rolls his eyes, which only seems to agitate Desmond even more. “You’re just a big bully! You’re mean and you’re stupid!”

 

“I’m not the one who’s failing the easiest subject in school, now am I?” he taunts back, merely raising a condescending eyebrow as Desmond makes inarticulate noises of frustration and embarrassment back at him. “If you would just practice you wouldn’t suck so much at this.”

 

Desmond cries even harder at that. Wet tracks stream down his face and his shoulders shake with suppressed sobs, chest hitching with the silent hiccups he keeps swallowing back down. It’s almost like someone hit the mute button, like a vacuum came and sucked out all the noise from his baby brother.

 

 The quiet of the grief is unnatural and alarming and unsettles Altair up to the point of causing the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end, and his arms to break out in goose flesh. He hates when Desmond cries. It’s too much of a reminder of their old life.

 

 “Des – “

 

The full-body flinch takes Altair by surprise, effectively vaporizing the reproachful words that had been working their way out. He’d meant only to reach out and comfort, cover up his harshness with something encouraging, but his actions jolt Desmond like an electric shock and lurch the youngest up to his feet and away. Altair stays frozen in place, hand outstretched toward the space Desmond had occupied only seconds before.

 

“I don’t suck,” Desmond mumbles, blinking hard as his wide eyes drown in saltwater.

 

“I didn’t mean that,” he says. He silently curses himself for losing his temper over something so dumb. “You’re doing fine. Really.”

 

Desmond squeezes his eyes shut and spins on his heel, bolting from the room before Altair can even try to stop him. Not that he would have. The guilt at making his little brother cry nearly crushes him flat and makes him want to punch himself repeatedly in the mouth. He finally drops his arm back into his lap and cradles his head in his hands.  He sighs heavily as he listens to Desmond’s footsteps get lost in the squeak and bang of the screen door leading to the backyard.

 

Part of him wants to go and apologize, but he knows it’d be a mistake. Both he and Desmond need a second to calm down. Besides that, he can’t even formulate an appropriate apology past the ball of shame and aggravation clogging his throat like a tumor at having been the cause of those silent tears. With another sigh, he pushes himself up from the couch and begins cleaning the living room with disciplined precision.

 

It’s a habit he’s been unable to shake since he was around Desmond’s age. You fuck up, you clean up the mess. Dad had been quite the fan of enforcing that rule, even if the particular fuck up was of his own making and not his children’s. For example, the time dear ol’ Dad had gotten so pissed off at a Lakers game that he’d ripped the TV from the wall and smashed it against the floor in an explosion of sparks, broken glass and bits of plastic.

 

He’d immediately rounded on Altair, blamed him for the mess, and stood over him as he was ordered to clean it all up with only his hands and a palm brush. In this case, however, Altair recognizes his fault and takes responsibility for it – he’s just not entirely sure how to clean up the months of mistakes he’s made leading up to now without making them worse.

 

Unbidden, he hears his father’s gross snarl bouncing around in his skull as he polishes the furniture, cruel and horribly controlling as it taunts his attempts at wiping away the dust and grime gathered in the places not even light is able to reach, just as it has done his entire life. He tries to ignore it, tries to shove the voice from his head, but it seems to only get louder the harder he fights it.

 

_You’re always fucking shit up._

He bares his teeth and scrubs the end table harder.

 

_Lookit ya, can’t even clean a damn table right!_

The wood creaks in protest from the pressure he’s applying, and with considerable effort, he manages to gradually lessen it until it’s not in danger of snapping under his hands. When the red fades from the edges of his vision, he starts up again, slower.

 

_Should have killed your faggot ass when I had the chance._

He slams his fist onto the table with a loud bang to drown out his father’s wheezing laugh. He tastes bile on his tongue and wishes, more than anything, for some kind of escape from that man. Running away hadn’t been enough – it would _never_ be enough. Sometimes it feels like Altair is still being haunted by him even though the man is alive and well. How was he supposed to get away from that? A memory would be easier to forget, but how could he shake off eighteen years of abuse when the person who did it all was still breathing and living comfortably just on the other side of town? Impossible.

 

“Altair?”

 

Shaken from his stupor, Altair straightens and lets the mask slip back on. The ‘I’m-okay-no-really’ one he’s perfected so well since the judge named him legal guardian. The one that keeps the terrified teenager inside locked up tight so he doesn’t scream about the voice in his head that never stops, never stops.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Ezio stares at him from the start of the hallway, looking for the cracks in the façade or for a sign of weakness. There aren’t any. “I think the table’s clean.”

 

He spares the cherry wood end table a glance. Its surface gleams prettily from the amount of polish he used, glossy and nearly reflective. It’ll be too slick for anything to be placed on it, which means Malik is going to be pissed again. After the fiasco with wood polish and the dining room seats last week, Malik had put a tight restriction on the amount of polish that was deemed acceptable in the house, even though seeing everyone slip right out of their seats like oil had been pretty hilarious.

 

“Shit.”

 

“Hang on,” Ezio disappears into the kitchen only to reappear a few seconds later with a dishtowel in hand. He rubs the tabletop a few times, removing the excess chemicals, and then carefully pulls the cleaning rag from Altair’s white-knuckled grip. “There, he shouldn’t notice.” He grins, but Altair can see just how fake it is; the edges of his mouth are too sharp, too wide, like a clown, to pass as anything real.

 

Altair dips his chin in a nod. “Thanks.” He glances around the room for some kind of excuse to leave and spots the index cards. He feels himself wince before he can hide it and knows without having to check that Ezio caught the reaction. “I’m going to head into town soon. Do you need something?” he asks, hoping to deflect.

 

Naturally, it doesn’t work. “I heard you yelling.”

 

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, swallowing back the guilt. “Just me and Desmond arguing. It was nothing.”

 

“Is that why he’s hiding in the tire swing?” Ezio crosses his arms as well, and Altair can’t help but feel a bit of pride at noticing how his brother has filled out since school started.

 

“In?”

 

“He’s small enough to fit inside it. Not a hiding place I’d recommend, but he looks like he doesn’t want to be found.”

 

“He’ll get stuck in that thing.”

 

Ezio shrugs and regards his older brother thoughtfully. “What happened? You and Desmond never fight. He kisses the ground you walk on. I can’t really believe he’d do anything to make you mad.”

 

“He didn’t. Not really. I got aggravated and snapped at him, it’s my fault,” he says, looking down and off to the side. The words come out harsher than he meant them to be, but he can’t find the energy to apologize for that, too. Just one more thing he’s unable to do, a duty he’s incapable of fulfilling, because he’s that much more of a failure.

 

“Altair?” He looks up again and hardens the mask even more when it threatens to slip at Ezio’s worried expression. “What’s going on? You’ve been pretty short-tempered lately. It’s like you’re shutting us all out and pushing us away and we can’t figure out why. You can’t do that. You’re all that we have left.” He tightens his arms across his chest and his shoulders come up defensively. “Is it because I got in trouble over Cesare? Because it’s all settled now, you know. Leonardo is keeping me straight.”

 

Altair gives him a blank look. “Mr. da Vinci?”

 

“He’s a laid back teacher, he wants everybody to call him Leonardo,” Ezio explains, offhand. “Anyway, is that it? Is that why you’ve been so pissed off with us, because of me?”

 

He sighs and drags a hand down his face, trying not to let on just how exhausted he is all of a sudden. “No, that’s not it. It isn’t your fault. Okay? There’s a lot going on, you know, and sometimes I let it get to me.” _And sometimes I hear our father’s voice, and it’s like he’s really here again._

 

“Oh.” Ezio’s tense shoulders relax slowly, and then all at once. “Oh. I didn’t even…God, Altair, why don’t you ever talk to me about this stuff?”

 

Because it’s my responsibility, not yours, he wants to say. Because I took this on and I have to handle it, because your my brothers and my sons, and I have to protect you.

 

Instead, he lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I would if I thought I couldn’t handle it. Besides, it’s nothing you need to worry about. I got this.” Ezio doesn’t look the least bit convinced. He’s intelligent enough to know that Altair is only saying that to reassure him and let him think things are alright. But he’s also young and naïve enough to believe his big brother is going to figure out all this stress and make things better. After all, isn’t that what he has always done? Fix all the bad?

 

“You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right? You’d let me help?”

 

“Of course.” _Absolutely not._

 

Ezio nods and lets it go, for which Altair is incredibly grateful for since he could feel his irritation and dismay spiking at having to acknowledge his own shortcomings that openly. “You should probably go talk to Desmond. He thinks you hate him.”

 

“I will. Where are you headed?” he asks, finally taking notice of Ezio’s clean shirt and pants. His hair has even been combed, and, yes, that’s Malik’s product he can smell in it. Ezio flushes just the tiniest bit under his scrutiny and tries to cover it up by rubbing the bridge of his nose.

 

“Meeting some friends downtown. I’ll pick Connor up after and we’ll be back before dark, it’s just a thing.”

 

“A thing.”

 

“Yeah, Altair, a thing.” The blush deepens to a bright pink as they stare each other down. Altair smirks and steps aside, smiling wider as Ezio quickly bypasses him for the front door. “Later.”

 

He waits until Ezio is almost outside before calling after him, “Use condoms!” and chuckles at the resulting heavy slam of the door that answers back.

 

In the silence that settles in the wake of Ezio’s departure, the creaks and groans of a settling house seem overly loud. Malik is still working down at the community college and won’t be home for another couple of hours. Connor won’t be finished with practice until after seven and will more than likely tag along with the rest of the baseball team for pizza at Giovanni’s before Ezio picks him up. So it’s just Altair in the house, alone, hyperaware of the deserted rooms surrounding him and desperately wishing someone – anyone – would come bursting through just so the quiet wouldn’t ring so loud.

 

In the end, he lets himself be chased outside into the backyard by the numbing silence and seeks out Desmond with the most apologetic face he can muster. The youngest is indeed curled up in the tire swing like Ezio had said, uncomfortably contorted in a half-moon-like position with his knees propped up and touching his chin. He shoots Altair a shuttered look as he approaches, but otherwise does nothing, says nothing.

 

So, Altair does it for him. “You’re going to get muscle cramps sitting like that.”

 

“Why do you care?” Desmond retorts, looking away from him. His bottom lip is trembling.

 

“Because you’re my brother and I love you,” he says, stepping closer and resting an elbow on the swing so it gently sways back and forth from his weight. “Are you mad at me? Desmond?”

 

“I don’t suck at spelling.”

 

“I know.”

 

“That’s what you said. You said I suck.”

 

“I know, but you know I didn’t mean that. I got aggravated and lost my temper. I wasn’t upset with you. It’s everything else that’s going on, and I took it out on you when it’s not even your fault. I’m sorry for that.” Desmond frowns up at him from the corner of his eye until Altair sighs and kneels in front of him. “Please don’t be mad anymore,” he says hoarsely, suddenly so overwhelmed that he can hardly stand it anymore. “I’m trying, Des, I really am. I know you don’t understand everything that’s happened the last few months, but it’s been so hard.”

 

He tries to stop himself, but finds he can’t. Of all of his brothers Desmond has always been the one he’s found easiest to talk to despite him being so young. Innocence embodied, free of judgment. Talking with Desmond is probably the closest thing to atonement Altair has ever gotten.

 

“I’m trying to give us a real chance here, you know? I’m trying to fix what Dad broke, to take away all the bad times and let you have something way better.” He takes a breath and looks down at the damp earth staining the knees of his blue jeans. “And I think I’m failing you guys all over again. Things aren’t getting better, are they? Because I hear you screaming at night, and Ezio’s still getting into fights and Connor hardly ever talks to anybody anymore. And I just – I don’t know what to do. I can barely make myself get up in the mornings because I know once I open my eyes that all of this shit is going to be waiting for me, and I’m scared to face it again and again and _again_. Every day, every minute, I’m watching us fall apart and I was supposed to keep us strong. I was supposed to protect us. And I just don’t think I can do it anymore.”

 

He’s surprised to see the ground swimming in front of his eyes when he opens them, unsure of when he’d even shut them in the first place, as hot tears fall down his face in rivers. He chokes out a sob and wraps his arms around himself in a pathetic attempt to keep from ripping apart at the seams. But it’s too late, the floodgates have been flung wide open and there’s no stopping the words now even if he wanted.

 

“I’m weak. I’m so weak. I wanted to prove I could do better than _him,_ that anything was better than staying in that house, but I can’t do anything right. It’s like the blind leading the fucking blind around here. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do better, I’m sorry that I keep messing everything up, I’m sorry that I can’t give you a stable life. Jesus, I’m _sorry_ – “

 

The self-loathing and guilt get trapped in his throat as Desmond’s bony shoulder digs into his neck in a sudden hug. His own arms return the wild clutch with a desperation that shames him, that makes him feel even worse for relying on his youngest brother for this kind of emotional support. But then something inside him just snaps. He imagines he can even hear the sharp crack, can feel the abrupt give inside his chest, and doesn’t fight it as he sags forward into Desmond’s warmth and simply succumbs to the overwhelming torrent that bursts free.

 

He’s unsure how long they remain like that; on their knees in the wet grass holding each other like they will be flung apart into totally different atmospheres if they even think of letting go. And Altair feels stupid and childish for acting like that, especially in front of Desmond, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t stop.

 

When they finally do separate, it’s because Desmond is trying to tell him something, but his words get distorted and muffled between his arm and Altair’s neck.

 

Altair loosens his grip and leans back. “What?”

 

“I said,” Desmond sniffs and wipes his wet face with the back of his arm since he’d been crying as well. “I said I think you’re doing a great job with us.”

 

He huffs out a breath that might’ve been a chuckle if he’d had the energy to make his lungs and face obey accordingly. “You do, huh?”

 

“Uh-huh. You’re better at being a daddy than…than he was to us, even if you don’t think so. Because I think so, and so does Ezio and Connor, and that’s all that matters,” Desmond says seriously, runny nose and all. “And we have Malik! Which makes two daddies, and two daddies is always better than one.”

 

Altair does make himself laugh this time somehow, reaching up to scrub his own face dry with the hem of his shirt. Once he starts laughing though, it’s just as impossible to stop as the crying was, and he thinks he might end up crying all over again because of the hysterical edge to the chuckles. His nerves feel frayed and exposed like livewires next to a giant puddle of water, tender and sparking and raw with energy. He’s so tired he thinks he could simply curl up right there in the yard and fall asleep for hours.

 

“What’s so funny?” Desmond asks, a confused smile on his face from the strange laughing.

 

“Nothing,” Altair manages, shaking his head as he reigns in his amusement. “I don’t think a lot of people would agree with you about having two daddies is all.”

 

“Then they’re just stupid.”

 

“Yeah. I agree with you there.”

 

As they get up to go back into the house, Desmond reaches into the tire swing and pulls out his spelling book with a wobbly smile. “I learned how to spell it for you.”

 

“Desmond, I’m sorry – “

 

“S – Q – U – I – R – R – E – L.”

 

“…Good job. I’m proud of you.”

 

_-ii-_

 

Things get a little better after that, or at least they seem easier to handle. Desmond doesn’t fuss about learning the rest of his spelling words and Altair doesn’t let himself get frustrated when he helps him study. He passes the test with an A+ and Malik pins it to the fridge with a smiley face magnet.

 

His father’s voice still taunts him whenever he feels himself slipping back down the slippery slope toward the dark abyss that hides in the back of his mind, but it’s not as hard to claw his way back into the light whenever he does. Not when Desmond is there chattering away about his new friend Shaun, or Ezio is spouting some random Biology shit over dinner. Even Connor starts to open up a bit instead of remaining cold and shutting them all out. Once, the boy even makes a joke and cracks a little satisfied grin when they all laugh.

 

A comfortable routine falls into place for everyone as the weeks go by. Things begin to feel shockingly normal, and Altair lets himself pretend that it’s always been this way. That their past never happened and all that has ever existed is this life right now, this happy, exciting new life where he has Malik to hold at night instead of a knife under his pillow and his brothers don’t have to learn new ways of covering up cuts and bruises so people don’t ask hard questions.

 

He has yearned for so long to find this kind of reprieve, and he knows it to be yearning because it physically _hurt_ and only things that are yearned for can cause that kind of hurt _._ He has wished and hoped and prayed to possess such a love that would erase all of the suffering they have endured over the years. And now he finally has that. They are finally given that. Sure, they have to work every second for it, and they work really hard, but all the adversity is so worth it in the end because the best things in life are never easy – and this is the single greatest gift in existence: complete and unequivocal happiness.  

 

So that’s why, when it all comes crashing down around his ears in a fiery screaming blaze, the pain is absolutely unbearable.  

 

_-iii-_

The chime of the doorbell slices through the early morning quiet like a bullet. It’s been nearly a year since they last saw each other, but when Altair opens the door and sees his father standing just on the other side, it’s as if no time at all has passed and he’s still that same tormented little kid who always feared the man’s heavy blows just as much as he feared his very presence.

 

“Hello, son.”

 

It’s Hell all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

_-i-_

 

He doesn’t want to let him. God knows how badly he doesn’t want to, but he’s frozen in place and he can’t move. All he can do is stare back at the sallow faced man who ruined his life, his brothers’ lives, and try not to show how very afraid he suddenly is.

 

His father graces him with a forced smile, almost sheepish. “I know this is unexpected – “

 

“What do you want?” It takes him a moment to recognize his own voice, steadier than he thought possible yet still strained and too loud. His heart is crashing against his chest. He tries not to let his fear and confusion show on his face, but he knows it’s pointless by the bright look in his father’s eyes.

 

“I wanted to talk.” His father looks a little uncomfortable when Altair doesn’t immediately respond. He gestures with a floundering hand at the air between them, and his face even pinks a little with embarrassment. “About how you’ve been doing and all. The court doesn’t keep me up to date and I get the feeling a phone call wouldn’t be well received.”

 

Altair gives him a wild look. “And you thought showing up out of the blue would be better?”

 

“Well,” he starts, frowning, and Altair grips the door a little tighter at the familiar face of rage bubbling beneath the surface. “What else was I supposed to do? I don’t know how any of this shit works.”

 

He wants to yell at him that that is exactly the point, this isn’t _supposed_ to work. There was nothing left to work between them. The court had officially cut this man from their lives and that was supposed to be the end of it – why the hell was he here pretending like nothing had ever happened?  


Altair feels himself shaking. “You’re supposed to leave us alone,” he says coldly, meeting his father’s frown with a glare that betrays nothing of the storm inside.

 

“Altair, I’m still your father,” he snaps. “Not even God himself can change that. The judge may have decided that you’re not my responsibility anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to know how you and your brothers are doing.”

 

Altair tries not to choke at the sudden flare of hate that burns his throat. _Responsibility._ As if they had been nothing but an impediment, a liability that prevented this man from doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. An annoyance that only ever got in the way rather than the man’s sons, rather than his own flesh and blood. 

 

He’s glad, suddenly, that his father chose to come on a weekday when everybody would be out of the house. He had thought at first that there was absolutely no way he could do this alone, that he would need help to face this demon of the past, but of course he can do this. Of course he can do this.

 

“No, that’s exactly what that means,” he says, stepping forward aggressively and noting with satisfaction that his father takes a half-step back. “You don’t get to know anything about us anymore. You ruined your chance and you don’t get a second shot at it. Don’t you remember what you did to us? How do you even sleep at night?” He gives the older man a disgusted look. His hand with the missing finger burns in reminder. “You have no rights when it comes to us anymore. None. Nothing you have ever done gives you the right to call yourself a father.”

 

“Now listen here – “

 

“No. You need to leave. Now. Before I call the police.”

 

“Altair!”

 

“I said go!” He growls, stepping forward again and forcing the older man to backpedal off the porch sloppily, nearly tumbling down the few steps by not paying attention to how close he was to the edge.

 

He scowls darkly and fists his fat hands by his sides. “Fine. I’m leaving, okay? I’m going. But I’m not finished here. We need to talk – I know you don’t want to,” Altair thinks he imagines the look of regret that softens the older man’s features. He looks pathetic as he says again, “I know you don’t want to. But we need to, for both our sakes.”

 

Altair wants to tell him there is nothing left to say between them, but he doesn’t. He turns on his heel and shuts the door behind him with a heavy click of the lock. He waits until he hears uneven footsteps trudge away and then an engine turning over. He doesn’t move until long after the sound fades away down the street and even then it’s just to lean over and peek out the window by the door to make sure he’s really gone.

 

A ball of panic shakes inside his chest as he goes back over the whole conversation in his head. Why the hell had he showed up? What could he ever want to talk about now, after all this time? Was he planning something? Wanting to appeal the court decision? Altair goes very still at the thought, panic turning to pure dread and spreading like cancer throughout his body. Is that it, he wonders nervously. Flip this whole thing on its head and drag it back to the beginning? He knows his father is a cruel man, but could he be so heartless?

 

Grimly Altair decides that yes, his father could definitely be that heartless. Hadn’t he the scars to prove it? 

 

With a strangled grunt, he wrenches himself away from the door and frantically searches for his housekeys and bag. Once he’s got them in hand, he all but flies out of the house to the bus station a few blocks down. The thought plagues him the whole ride to the local community college. The question of it being possible nearly drives him insane, and he bounces his leg impatiently at every stop.

 

He needs to talk to Malik. A part of him cringes at the idea of having to run to Malik like a frightened child, but his fear overpowers his pride. Besides, hadn’t Malik always been there for them when no one else was? Wasn’t he the one who had rescued them in the first place?    

 

The ride seems to last forever, but when the bus finally does make it to his stop he half runs, half walks to Malik’s lecture hall and tries not to pace in front of the door as he waits for the class to let out. Ten minutes before it is actually scheduled to end, the doors open wide and bored looking students start filing out by twos and threes. Altair shoulders his way through them into the cramped room and shuts the door after the last student trudges out.

 

Malik is standing over his desk at the front, idly rifling through some paperwork and chewing on the cap of a dry erase marker. The sleeves of his sweater are pushed up over his forearms and Altair can see the tail of his white button-up underneath hanging out in the back. Altair feels the panic ebb a little at the comforting sight and wishes they were home. It never ceases to amaze how Malik can pull off the sloppy teacher look and still appear so immaculate.

 

Sensing someone’s eyes on him, Malik looks up from the papers in his hands and raises an eyebrow in surprise at finding Altair standing stricken before him. He quickly puts them down and crosses the room in three quick strides.

 

“What is it? What’s happened?” He asks, his voice is calm and collected, yet his face is alight with concern.

 

Altair opens his mouth to speak only to have nothing come out. Frustrated, he doesn’t even know where to begin. “My dad came to the house this morning,” he manages finally, unsure of how to explain the thoughts and trepidations running through his head.

 

Malik’s eyes turn to flint. “To the house?” Altair nods. “What did he want? Were the boys home? Why didn’t you call me?” The last question is tight with accusation. Malik takes him by the elbow and leads him to the metal desk at the front, making him sit down so that his suddenly shaky lets don’t give out beneath him.

 

“He said he wanted to talk, but I don’t know what he was really after. Everybody was already gone to school when he showed up.” He scrubs the back of his neck and shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I wasn’t really thinking straight.”

 

Malik leans his hip against the desk and crosses his arms. “What did he say?”

 

Altair rehashes the whole visit for him in choppy sentences, trying to recall everything just in case there was some hidden meaning behind his father’s words and actions. When he’s finished, Malik is tapping a finger against an elbow in thought with a dark look. Somehow, even though the situation is still dire, Altair feels calmer after spilling it all out knowing that Malik will fix it again.

 

“I should’ve been there,” he growls finally with a self-deprecating shake of his head. “I’m sorry you were alone.”

 

Altair shrugs. “It’s not your fault.” He turns his face into the comforting hand that cups his cheek and breathes in against Malik’s wrist. “At least it was me and not one of the others.”

 

Malik sighs and kneels in front of Altair. He pulls Altair forward with a guiding hand and places a chaste kiss on his mouth, murmuring, “I still should’ve been there. I would have very much liked to have been.” He feels Malik smirk a little. “I still have a few things I would like to say to your father.”

 

Altair snorts and gives a slight shake of his head. “As much as I’d like to see you beat the hell out of him both mentally and physically, I’d rather you stay out of jail. I need you here with me.” He kisses Malik again before leaning back into the chair and trying not to let his mind wander at having the older man kneeling between his knees. “What do you think he wants?”  


“I don’t know, but I’m not going to give him any chances. I’m going to set up a consultation with your lawyer and make sure there are no loopholes. If you want, we can even speak to someone about getting a restraining order.”

 

“You think it’ll come to that?”

 

Malik rocks back on his heels and runs a hand messily through his hair. “I’m not sure about that either. We’ll see what the lawyer says, get his advice about it. Maybe it won’t come to that.”

 

Altair nods and chews on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to tell the boys, I think it would just upset them.”

 

“I agree,” Malik says, getting up and pulling Altair up with him. “I think this should stay between us until we can figure out what’s going on. In the meantime, we act like nothing is different.” He gives Altair an encouraging smile. “Which means you need to get to your class before you’re late. I’ll see you tonight when you get off work, okay?”

 

He feels a little sick at having to act like nothing had happened, but knows it’s for the best and nods his agreement. He nearly shudders at imagining how Desmond would react to hearing their father had been so close. As for Ezio and Connor, both of them have been doing so well lately, it would destroy all of their progress to know what had happened. Everything has been so perfect, Altair thinks. He can’t let it all go wrong now.

 

“It’s Ezio’s night to make dinner,” he says as Malik leads him back out into the hall. “Should I grab some takeout on the way home?” He can’t help but grin at the face Malik makes.

 

“Yes, and maybe another fire extinguisher. We used up the old one last time.”

 

Altair chuckles, grateful for the magic Malik seems to possess at being able to put his fears at ease with just a few words. They share a private moment behind the door before saying goodbye and Altair walks away with a light flush and a smirk quirking his mouth on one side. He feels a renewed determination bloom in his chest as he leaves Malik. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep this perfect little life safe.

 

_-ii-_

A few weeks pass by without any incident. They speak with the family lawyer who tells them he will review their case and look for any angles their father could possibly come from and for what reasons. As for the restraining order, he tells them it is definitely an option, but one that should be considered carefully. With only one meeting between Altair and his father, and that not even of a threatening nature, it could be that they would not have sufficient evidence. And, of course, his brothers would have to be informed by that point and neither he nor Malik were ready to bring them into the fold just yet. So, tucking it away for later consideration, they decide to move forward just as they have been.

 

It gets colder outside and Malik decides to take the boys out shopping for some coats and warmer clothes. It’s been a while since they were all together long enough to do something as a family, which doesn’t bother Altair as much as it probably should since his brothers seem so happy. Connor is constantly doing something sporty, always staying active (Altair thinks the current obsession is track while he waits for soccer to start up in the spring), and Desmond seems to spend every weekend at his friend Shaun’s house camping in the back yard under the stars. Even Ezio seems to have found a niche for himself, his little group of friends look like little excited puppies whenever they follow him around. Altair’s even noticed his grades have improved exponentially – probably thanks to that teacher who’s taken a special interest in him.

 

So, really, he doesn’t begrudge the fact that he hardly sees them anymore because the alternative is much more gratifying. And, really, he appreciates the extra alone time he gets with Malik as a result.

 

Malik takes them to the mall and they spend a few hours milling in and around all the shops. Altair watches his brothers stare in wonder at all the merchandise and tries not to feel bad about them having had to miss out on so much up until now. The thought darkens his mood a little as he thinks about his father. They haven’t heard from him in a while and Altair sincerely hopes it is because they won’t be hearing from him ever again.

 

“Hey, what do you think of this one?” Ezio holds up a hooded sweatshirt with a unicorn on the front. Altair tries not to cringe at the tie-dye rainbow surrounding it. “What? It’s unique.”

 

“It’s stupid and you’re gay if you wear it,” Connor says indifferently, and then quickly shoots a glance at Altair with a quick, “Not that that is a bad thing.”

 

Altair grins and shakes his head when Ezio makes a mocking face at Connor. “If you’ll wear it, I don’t care what it looks like. Just don’t waste money on something that’s going straight to Goodwill after a week.”

 

Desmond pops out from behind a rack of clothes with Malik by the hand. “Altair? Can me and Malik go to Gap? I don’t like this store.”

 

“We can meet back up at the food court after.” Malik says, chuckling, and Altair can’t help but smile back at the bloom of affection that warms him from the inside.

 

“Sure, see you in a bit.” He turns back in time to see Ezio holding up a shirt with the image of a woman’s naked torso against himself and posing for a blushing Connor. He rolls his eyes hard enough that it’s a wonder they don’t fall right from his skull. “Alright, no more Hot Topic, come on. We’re going somewhere more decent.”

 

They end up in GameStop. After buying a couple of used copies of some games and having a mini-tournament on the in-store gaming console, they hoof it to the nearest retail store and pick up the first coat and sweater they find before meeting back up with Malik at the food court.

 

Malik is sitting at a table somewhere near the edge with Desmond, both of them already eating and chatting with a few shopping bags on the floor by their feet. Altair sheepishly leads his brothers to the table and adds their one meager clothes bag to the pile.

 

Malik raises an eyebrow. “You went straight to the game store, didn’t you?”

 

Ezio snorts when Altair pretends not to hear the question. “We found some jackets,” he says after a pause, shrugging. “And stuff.”

 

“Right,” Malik shakes his head, but he’s smirking a little so Altair knows he’s forgiven. “This why you never have new clothes.”

 

“My old clothes still fit.” Altair shrugs and steals a fry from Malik’s tray. He hands over a few dollars to Ezio and Connor so they can get something to eat too, and ruffles Desmond’s hair affectionately as he asks, “Find anything good?”

 

Desmond grins around his straw and nods. “Malik got me some new socks. They have pictures of space on them. He says my old ones have too many holes in them.”

 

Altair squeezes Malik’s knee under the table in thanks. “That’s great Desmond. You should show them to me when we get home.”

 

Desmond nods and slurps up more of his coke, thoroughly enjoying the chance to have as much of the soft drink as his belly can hold. Altair steals another fry from Malik and starts idly talking to him about classes and work, all the while keeping one eye on Connor and Ezio jostling each other in line at Mcdonald’s.

 

“I’m happy for you that the office offered you more hours, but I don’t want it interfering with school.” Malik says after Altair tells him that Mr. Stein at the veterinarian’s office asked him if he’d like to work four days a week rather than the normal three. “If you’re worried about money, you shouldn’t be. We’re doing just fine.”

 

“I know. It’s just good to be on the safe side, and it won’t interfere with my class schedule,” he reassures, making room for Ezio and Connor at the table. “He even said he’d let me start watching some of the procedures if the front isn’t too busy.”

 

Connor looks up in interest. “So you would watch him, like, cut into dogs and stuff?”

 

“Maybe. I don’t know, it depends on what procedure he’s doing, I guess.”

 

“I want a dog!” Desmond shouts excitedly. “Can we get a dog?”

 

“No way. You would get bored with it after a day and then Malik would have to take care of it.” Altair replies flippantly. Desmond looks crestfallen.

 

“Me? Why would I be taking care of it?” Malik asks, amused. “Why not you?”

 

“Because I’m lazy.” He pulls the hood of his jacket up over his head and leans back into his chair in a comfortable sprawl as if to give due credit to the statement. His brothers snort and snicker at Malik’s ‘I-am-not-impressed’ look.

 

Altair yawns and lets the conversation go over his head as he waits for his brothers to finish eating. He isn’t paying much attention, which is probably why he doesn’t notice at first that Desmond has gone very quiet. When he does, however, he thinks it’s probably because he’s a little put out about the whole dog thing.

 

“Desmond?” He nudges him with a foot under the table and gets no reaction. “Hey, don’t be mad. You might be able to convince us to get you a fish or something. Just not a dog yet, okay? Desmond?”

 

Desmond is staring off at something behind Altair with a stricken look, like he’s suddenly too terrified to move or even breathe. Altair knows before he even turns around what he’s going to find. He shoots Malik a shuttered look, catching his attention, before slowly turning around enough to see behind him. Across the food court, casually strolling along in front of some stores, is their father.

 

The boys, chatting so amiably before, now peter off into silence as they follow Altair’s gaze and go very still. Altair stands quickly from the table, nearly knocking it over in the process, and would have, had Malik not grabbed it in his haste to stand up as well.

 

“Take them outside,” Altair orders Malik roughly, gathering up their bags and shoving them into Ezio and Connor’s arms. “Desmond, get up, we’re leaving.” He pulls Desmond’s chair away from the table with a loud screech of metal and hauls him up. “C’mon, Desmond. It’s time to go.”

 

“Altair,” Ezio whispers, his usually loud voice muted and strained. He’s still staring, and when Altair glances back again he sees that their father is looking right at them and, unbelievably, is walking over. Malik snatches Ezio by the elbow and, somehow, manages to herd the three brothers quickly away. He gives Altair a burning look full of emotion, but Altair shakes his head. He knows Malik wants to stay, is probably fuming that he can’t, but they both know the others need to be as far away from this as possible.

 

It’s almost like when they was younger. He always felt so alone against his father, was always the one to stay behind so his brothers wouldn’t have to suffer. The thought makes bile rise up in his throat.

 

“Well this is a pleasant surprise,” his father says amicably when he approaches. Altair watches his beady eyes flick toward where the others had left, and he moves to step in front of him to block the view.

 

“We were just leaving,” he says tightly.

 

“Don’t leave on my account. Call them back in, we can all have lunch together and catch up.” He smiles enigmatically and Altair nearly gags. “I’ve been wanting to see them. I’d like to know how they are doing.”

 

“They’re doing fine,” he snaps.

 

The charming smile drops at Altair’s tone, and, yes, there’s that familiar angry glint in his father’s eyes. “Don’t be unreasonable. I only want to talk.”

 

“They don’t want to hear it.”

 

“Stop being such a child, Altair,” His father growls irritably. “What is your problem?”

 

“ _My_ problem?” he asks, latching onto the fury that burns up his throat and drowns out the quaking fear. “I’m not the one who has a problem, _Dad.”_ He doesn’t wait for a response before hissing, “What do you want? Are you following us? If you’re trying to take them back, it’s never going to work.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re not getting them back,” he growls savagely. “They’re mine. You will never get them back, not while I’m still breathing.”

 

His father scowls deeply and points a fat finger in his face. “You better watch how you talk to me, boy. I didn’t come here to start anything with you. I came here to return a purchase. Bumping into you was just a happy coincidence. I didn’t follow you here,” he snaps. “Since you are here though, I would like to sit down with my sons and talk to them. If that can’t happen today, fine, we can arrange something else for a different time. But I deserve that much at least.”

 

Altair bites his tongue, trembling from the proximity. He had nearly flinched when his father had put his hand in his face. More than anything he wants to turn around and run. He opens his mouth to respond, but a hand on his back stops him in his tracks.

 

“Excuse me, we have to be going now,” Malik says coolly, his face a calm, polite mask when Altair glances over at him. “It was nice bumping into you, Warren. You have a nice day.”

 

A look of contempt passes over his father’s face when Malik speaks to him, and Altair knows it must take a lot for him not to curse Malik right then and there. He remembers quite clearly how much the older man abhors homosexuality, and Malik for interfering.

 

“You can’t keep me from my own damn kids,” he says, loud enough that probably half the food court can hear. “I have my rights!”

 

Malik gives him a cold smile and tugs Altair by the back of his jacket, steering him away from the flushed and angry man straight out the doors to the car where his brothers are already waiting. He takes an unsteady breath, the crisp air stinging his lungs, and reaches up to pull his hood a little lower over his face. Malik wraps an arm around him tightly and pulls him into his side.

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs as they reach the car. Malik tightens his grip even more.

 

“Let’s go home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I kind of fell off the wagon, but I'm back now! So sorry!


	4. Chapter 4

_-i-_

 

“I’m sorry, it’s just not enough to go on.” Altair’s lawyer looks truly apologetic as he says this, his normally friendly face clouded by helpless frustration. “We could bring up your past history with him, sure, and the judge will more than likely take that into account. But you can bet that your father has sufficient evidence to show that he is not the same man – he probably has letters from people in his community giving testament to his character, housing receipts, loan approvals, charity event registrations, whatever, to show that he is an upstanding citizen.”

 

“We can do the same. We can get letters from teachers, my boss, our landlord. We can prove that our lifestyle has improved exponentially since he’s been out of the picture, and jeopardizing that would set us all back.”

 

“True, you can, and if you have a sympathetic judge you may even get what you want. But people love second chances, Altair. They love the idea of a happy ending coming from the ashes of disaster, and what could be better than giving a single father one more shot at being with his kids? The only family he’s got left living in this world?”

 

Altair feels his face twist in a disgusted scowl. How much happier would their lives be if they could simply stop being related to the devil himself?

 

“Please,” Altair says, quiet and defeated. “Please. I don’t want him around my brothers. You don’t understand what it’s like now, how happy we are.” He drops his head in his hands, hating how broken and pathetic he feels, and how raw his voice is as he talks. “You don’t know what it was like with him. Every day was a mess of panic and fury. We were beaten like dogs and treated even worse. We were _kids_ , and he poured into us every ounce of hate and resentment he’d ever felt over the years.”

 

“Altair…”

 

“You can’t put us through it again!” He suddenly snaps, whipping his head back up. “Someone like that doesn’t know how to change – they _can’t_ change. If you don’t help us, you’re throwing us right back into the lion’s den!”

 

Altair’s lawyer stares at him blankly for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “I’ll do my best. That’s all I can promise you.”

 

Altair wants to scream at him, that’s not good enough! There have been too many instances just like this. So many broken promises, so many false hopes. How many times does the system have to fail before somebody wakes up and notices there is a problem?

 

“Fine.” Altair replies evenly as he stands and gathers up his paperwork. He doesn’t say another word as he turns around and storms out of the office.

 

He stuffs the mess of documents into his backpack and tucks his shoulders up against his ears. It’s cold when he makes it outside onto the sidewalk. Fall has settled in for good now, obvious from the naked trees and scatterings of red and orange leaves littering the ground. A few kids are shrieking and laughing as they jump into carefully constructed piles across the street. Altair ignores them and heads toward the bus station.

 

It’s a quarter to three, which means he’ll be on time to meet the boys just as school lets out. He sighs and slumps against the chilly window with a solid thump as the bus rumbles away from the curb. He considers calling Malik to let him know what their lawyer had said, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to break the disappointment to him just yet – not on top of Malik trying to scramble around and gather last minute essays from his students before the Thanksgiving break.

 

One would think they would be used to bad news by now, he thinks sardonically. They seem to carry it around with them like a bad cold.

 

His phone chimes in his pocket and he sits up to dig it out. It’s a text message from Ezio wanting to know where he is. Rather than text back, Altair hits the call button and presses the phone to his ear.

 

Ezio answers on the first ring. “Where are you?”

 

“On the bus. Why are you texting during school?”

 

“School let an hour ago. We got out early because of the break, remember?”

 

“What?”

 

He can practically hear Ezio roll his eyes. “Are you kidding? We’ve been talking about it all week!”

 

Altair groans and thunks his head against the window. “I’m sorry. I forgot,” he says. “I’ll be there soon. Is there somewhere you guys can wait for me?”

 

“The front steps,” Ezio replies, albeit sarcastically. “Everybody’s left, no one hangs around on Fridays. Especially before a break.”

 

“Fine. Just…just don’t move until I get there. Alright?”

 

Ezio sighs. “There will be a bus in like ten minutes, can’t we just take that one?”

 

“No!” he says, a little too loudly. “No. Don’t move. I’ll be there in a little bit, just sit out front and wait for me.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Ezio grunts a “whatever” into his ear.

 

The phone clicks as the call ends. He checks the screen and grimaces at the six missed calls and handful of unread texts from his brothers. The judge who granted him guardianship would be severely disappointed right now, and the realization makes Altair feel even worse.

 

The rest of the bus ride Altair sits impatiently bouncing his knee and cracking his knuckles. It seems like a lifetime before they finally reach his stop, and he quickly steps off in the general direction of the school. He’s still a little ways away, but he calls Ezio anyway to tell him he’s there.

 

The call rings through to voicemail, so he tries Connor. Again, no answer. Worried now, he starts jogging toward the front of the school only to find the front steps empty and his brothers nowhere in sight. He clenches his jaw, biting back on the cold shot of adrenaline spreading in his chest. Could their dad have…?

 

No – no, he doesn’t let himself finish the thought, unwilling to even entertain the possibility. He tries Ezio again. Faintly, he hears a cell ringing somewhere nearby. He spins in a circle, trying to pinpoint it, and decides it’s coming from the general direction of the parking lot.

 

In his ear, Ezio picks up with an irritated, “Turn around, stupid.”

 

Finally, he spots all three of his brothers standing next to an obnoxiously yellow Bug parked near the side of the building. Desmond catches his eye and grins widely, waving an excited arm to get him to come over. Altair feels his legs nearly give out in relief.

 

“What the hell?” He snaps into the phone. “I told you to wait out front.”

 

Altair can see Ezio rolling his eyes as he heads over toward them. “We are out front,” he quips.

 

“On the _steps_ , Ezio.”

 

“I had to talk to someone.”

 

“Who?”

 

“My teacher.”

 

By this time, Altair is near enough that he can hang up the phone. Desmond immediately attaches himself to Altair’s hip – since when did he even get tall enough to do that? – and launches into a convincing argument of why he simply _must_ go to Shaun’s house tonight to play Minecraft, while Ezio tries talking over him to do introductions for the tallish, hippy looking man standing by the driver’s side door of the Bug.

 

“ – cool expansion, so please? Can I go?”

 

“…the one I stay after school with to help clean the labs.”

 

“We’ll talk about it on the way home,” Altair says to Desmond, ignoring the hangdog look on his face. He looks back up to Ezio and extends his hand to the man standing next to him. “Sorry, what was your name?”

 

“Mr. da Vinci,” the man replies easily, smiling a friendly, amused smile. “Nice to meet you. I apologize for getting your boys into trouble, I just wanted to speak with Ezio about the break.”

 

Altair frowns. “Something wrong?”  


“No, not all,” Mr. da Vinci says quickly. “I was letting him know that the school’s art show is Tuesday and the deadline for submissions is this evening. Ezio has great potential, I’d like to see his work on display at the show.”

 

Altair raises an eyebrow in Ezio’s direction, who does a stellar job at ignoring his pointed look in favor of studying the clouds. “Well, I’m glad he has such an attentive teacher to encourage him,” Altair says, a grin threatening to split his cheeks. “Has he, ah, decided what he wants to submit?”

 

 “Unfortunately not.” Mr. da Vinci shares a look with Altair and visibly fights an amused grin of his own. “I expect an email of his choice before seven tonight.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll have made a decision by then,” Altair agrees easily. “Right, Ezio?” His brother glares at him with pinked cheeks and offers a stiff shrug of his shoulders.

 

Mr. da Vinci chuckles and reaches out to pat Ezio comfortingly. Altair watches his brother scowl even harder at the teasing. “I won’t keep you any longer, I’m sure you are eager to enjoy the break. It was nice talking to you Altair. Ezio,” he smiles and gives Ezio’s arm a friendly squeeze. “I hope to hear from you.”

 

Ezio mumbles something vaguely coherent, though Altair can clearly see the look of fondness on his brother’s face as Mr. da Vinci turns back to his car. They say their goodbyes and well wishes for the holiday and watch as Mr. da Vinci folds himself into the old Bug and drives away. Altair gives a jaunty wave as it disappears around the corner.

 

“You’re such a dick sometimes,” Ezio grouses.

 

“Should’ve waited on the stairs,” Altair shoots back, still a little annoyed. “And answered your phone.”

 

Ezio sniffs. “That would’ve been rude. He was talking.”

 

“Whatever, let’s go. The next bus is in ten minutes.” Altair leads his brothers out of the lot and back down the street toward the stop. No one really says anything as they trudge into the shelter and alternate between sitting on the bench or leaning against the glass wall surrounding the shelter as they wait.

 

Altair knows his brothers resent being escorted around like prisoners, and that they are more than capable of catching the public bus home on their own, but a nagging voice in the back of his head keeps telling him that it isn’t safe, at least not yet. He’s glad they gave up whining about it all the time – for the most part anyway, he thinks, rolling his eyes in response to a rather sullen look Connor shoots his way.

 

It won’t be forever. That’s what he tells them any time his brothers try to talk him out of riding the bus to school with them or walking them right up to the front door of their friends’ houses. It won’t be forever, and one day they will be able to walk down the street without looking over their shoulders in fear of seeing a familiar shadow stalking their every step.

 

 

Their father hadn’t tried to hedge in any visits over the last month. Other than a few rejected phone calls, there hasn’t been any contact since the mall incident, which is something that Altair is eternally grateful for. He feels cast adrift in a massive ocean, unsure of what to do or how to move on from where they are right now. It’s a terrible feeling to realize you have no idea what the future holds or how your life is going to be a day from now, a week, even a month. The fears he keeps weigh him down like stones tied around his ankles, dragging him down to the depths.

 

_-ii-_

 

Malik is already home by the time they get there, defrosting salmon steaks in the sink and methodically stirring brown sugar and honey into a glaze. Desmond makes a beeline for him as soon as he breaks through the door.

 

“Please can I go to Shaun’s tonight? Altair said to ask you! Please please please!”

 

“Oh, did he now?” Malik muses, flicking a sardonic look Altair’s way. “As long as it’s fine with Shaun’s parents – “

 

“Thank you!” Desmond yelps, snatching the landline from the counter and running to the bedroom before Malik can even finish his sentence.

 

Ezio and Connor linger in the kitchen long enough to root out a bag of Doritos and two sodas on their way to setting up camp in the living room with the Xbox. Altair merely shrugs helplessly and leans against the counter next to Malik.

 

“Part of being a guardian is actually being an authoritative figure, Altair,” Malik remarks, though Altair can see the amused quirk of his mouth. “You can’t always punt it off on me.”  


Altair shrugs. “One of us has to be the good guy.”

 

Malik scoffs and goes back to cooking. They hold an easy-going conversation that consists of recounts of final classes, annoying individuals who flat-out refuse to turn in assignments, failing said individuals, and a rehashing of Altair’s meeting with the infamous Mr. da Vinci and his request for Ezio’s artwork.

 

“I didn’t know Ezio liked art,” Malik muses.

 

“I think it’s more of a recent development.”

 

Malik snorts a light chuckle and arranges the steaks into a pan. As he starts drizzling the heated glaze over them, he raises a speculative eyebrow in Altair’s direction. “You haven’t said anything about the meeting with the lawyer this morning.”

 

“I know.”

 

Malik gives a slight nod to himself at Altair’s lack of response and focuses on scraping the last of the glaze out. “We didn’t expect much in the first place. Don’t let yourself be disappointed.”

 

Altair sighs and drops into a chair at the breakfast table, propping his chin on a fist. “No one is going to help us.”

 

“Probably not,” Malik says. His voice is even, but his shoulders are taught with barely suppressed anger. “We’ve always handled things better on our own anyway. If they won’t help us, we will deal with it however we feel the need to.”

 

“How about a knife to the neck,” Altair mumbles under his breath, surprised as Malik huffs a laugh and comes over to the table to him, gripping his chin in warm, honey-scented fingers.

 

“Don’t think that I haven’t considered it,” he says softly, tracing the scar on Altair’s lips with a thumbnail. “The only way I am able to sleep at night is knowing that someday that man will get exactly what he deserves, whether in this life or another, by my hand or someone else’s.”

 

Altair can see his own troubled face reflected back in Malik’s too-knowing gaze, and he closes his eyes against it. “It will never be enough,” he growls, mostly to himself. “Whatever he suffers, it will never be enough.”

 

“No,” Malik agrees. “It won’t. But at least it will be something.” He presses his mouth against Altair’s in a comforting kiss. A smile curls the edge of Altair’s mouth, and he leans in for more, humming quietly when Malik deepens it by swiping a clever tongue along his lip.

 

He tastes like air – like relief, and Altair wishes he could just drown in Malik’s formidable resolve. He reaches up to grip the back of Malik’s neck, pull him down closer, heat pooling low in his belly as desire stirs a starving beast inside…

 

“Gross!”

 

Desmond is giving them an accusing look from the other side of the kitchen when they spring apart. He holds out the phone, scowling, and gives it an impatient shake.

 

“Shaun’s mom wants to talk to one of you.”

 

Malik clears his throat, clearly flustered, and hastily snatches the phone. Altair smirks at the deep flush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he murmurs into the phone and goes back to preparing dinner.

 

Desmond wanders over to the table and takes a seat. “You guys are disgusting.”

 

Altair, being the mature older brother that he is, dignifies that comment by sticking out his tongue with a sneer. “Shut up, midget.”

 

“You shut up!”

 

“Yes, that’s fine, we will have him ready by then,” Malik says, giving the two of them a withering look that threatens bodily harm if they start a fight. “Okay. Thank you. You too, have a nice night.”

 

Desmond makes a final face at Altair before whipping around and smiling brightly in Malik’s direction. “So?”

 

He rolls his eyes. “She will be by to pick you up in thirty minutes. Go get your stuff.”

 

“Thanks!”

 

Altair stands from the table as Desmond zooms off a second time, and flashes Malik what he hopes to be a suave, irresistible grin. “Where were we…?” Malik snorts as Altair’s hands make their way around his hips, reeling him in until they are flush and Altair’s nose is nuzzling a tantalizing line along his jaw.

 

“At least let me put the food in the oven,” Malik grunts, halfheartedly pulling away. Altair tightens his grip and hums, now mouthing next to a spreading grin and rubbing his sides encouragingly.

 

“Altair – “

 

“Whoa! Hey, do _not_ fornicate in the kitchen – this is a sacred place!” Ezio shouts, earning an ‘oh my god, seriously?’ from a disgruntled Connor in the living room, and another ‘gross!’ from Desmond down the hall. Altair heaves an explosive sigh and lets his head drop back to glare at the ceiling in despair.

 

“What do you want, Ezio?” he deadpans, side eyeing his brother with an appropriate glare.

 

Malik shrugs out of his hold with a strangled sound and deftly bangs around with the pans of salmon and vegetables going into the oven.

 

Ezio is smirking. “Connor and I want to go to the movies with some friends.”

 

“You have friends?”

 

“Ha ha, so funny,” Ezo snarks. “Can we go?”  


Altair shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Did you submit your thing for Mr. da Vinci?”

 

“No,” he says, frowning. “I’m not doing that.”

 

“Guess you’re not going to the movies then.”

 

“What?” he yelps. “Come on, that’s stupid.”

 

“Nope.” 

 

“Oh my god, you’re serious aren’t you? Whatever. I’ll do it later.” Altair stares, and Ezio fidgets. “Okay! I’ll do it now.”

 

He grins maliciously. “Be back by midnight.”

 

Ezio’s face falls. “It’s Friday night.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “Eleven-thirty.”

 

“Fine!” Ezio throws his hands up in irritation. “Fine, we’ll be back by midnight.” He disappears for all of five minutes before coming back with Malik’s tablet to show them the ‘Thank you for your submission’ response on the screen. “Happy?”

 

“Immensely. Have fun at the movies.”

 

“You’re an ass,” Ezio gripes, turning back to the living room and heading toward the front door with Connor at his heels.

 

“Language, you little shit.” Ezio sticks his hand back through the door and flips the finger before slamming it shut. Altair huffs a laugh and flashes Malik a toothy grin. “How’s that for parenting?”

 

Malik gives him a blank look and shakes his head. “You’re hopeless.”

 

Altair laughs again, and steps forward to help with the rice, content for the moment to let his fears rest. They work in silence for a little while with Altair occasionally stealing a kiss here and there. The quiet is nice – even if it does worry him to have his brothers out of sight. He had thought about going with Ezio and Connor, just to make sure they were alright, but had decided against it. Ezio can throw tantrums worse than a child when it comes to hanging out with friends.

 

They finish up the rice and take it from the burner and the rest of the food from the oven. As they start fixing plates, Desmond pops in to say ‘bye’ before dashing straight out of the house and into Shaun’s family van. Altair waves to Shaun’s mom in the driver’s seat and watches them drive off, trying hard not to panic at having everyone too far to protect.

 

“It’s fine, Altair,” Malik says, cutting into his thoughts. They carry their plates to the living room and settle in for a marathon on Netflix. “You’re worrying too much. They will be fine.

 

He makes himself smile self-deprecatingly, trying not to show just how much he would rather call them all back home, or go out and keep an eye on them himself. He tries not to show that the cracks inside are widening more and more with each passing day, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep it together.

 

He avoids Malik’s suddenly sharp eyes and tucks into the salmon.

 

_-iii-_

 

Later, after they pack away the leftovers and spend most of the night alternating between marathoning shows and playing Borderlands, they head to bed and Altair is able to lose himself in Malik’s touch. He shuts off his brain and lets Malik take control, relishing in the sweet trembling release that comes as a result.

 

He’s spent, but somehow he finds the energy to roll them over for a second time. It’s even sweeter than the first, and afterward they both collapse in an exhausted tangle of arms and legs, panting dazedly and drifting in and out of sleep.

 

Altair gratefully lets himself drop away into nothingness, afraid of the thoughts and worries that would plague him if he stayed awake for even one more moment. He doesn’t see the look Malik gives him – a worried frown that doesn’t ease until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes. Lack of motivation is a terrible thing.


	5. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here it is. I know many of you (including myself) thought this was going to remain incomplete forever. I truly am sorry for the years of waiting and the cringe-worthy grammatical mistakes. And the lack of workable plot. And horrible structure. This started out as just a little thing where I could explore the boys as brothers because I loved the mental image, and turned into a slapdash put together story.
> 
> For those that stuck around – thank you for not putting my head on a pike. For the newcomers – I hope your eyes didn’t bleed too much.
> 
> But, in all seriousness, thank you all for the amazing support that this story managed to pull over the years. It blew my mind then, and it continues to blow my mind now. Hopefully you enjoy this last (admittedly too long) bit, and stick around for whatever random mess I put out next!

_-i-_

 

“Stop staring.”

 

Altair shoots Connor an irritated look and resists the urge to reach out and bounce his head off the nearest hard surface. “I’m not staring.”

 

“Yes you are. Shaun’s mom is a nice lady and you’re going to freak her out by staring at their house like a serial killer.”

 

“I’m not – “ Altair sucks his teeth and tamps down a growl. “Why are you even here? Didn’t Malik say he needed help raking leaves today?”

 

Connor flashes an uncharacteristic grin and rocks back on his heels. “Ezio gave me five dollars to make you miserable.” At his brother’s incredulous look, he grins even wider. “Pay back for checking up on us at the movies last night like a _grandma_. Besides, he’s helping Malik.”

 

Altair manages not to wince, though he’s pretty sure by the look of righteous superiority Connor is wearing that the guilt is written clearly all over his face. He rolls his eyes and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, looking bored. So what if he had gone to check up on his brothers last night while they were out with their friends? They would never have known about it if they didn’t have the freaking eyes of hawks.

 

Besides, it was for their own good. Of course, they don’t recognize that and think he’s just being overbearing. Or maybe they think he just enjoys being up their asses all the time – whatever the reason, so long as they are suffering and embarrassed, because that’s apparently what he lives for now.

 

He snorts and shakes his head, amused despite Connor’s aggravating presence. It doesn’t matter. They can think he’s the most insufferable person in the world, so long as they are safe. That’s all he cares about.

 

“There he is,” Connor says around a yawn, gesturing toward the Hasting’s residence with a lazy wave as Desmond opens the front door. They watch as he makes his way down the porch steps with a blonde haired boy wearing lopsided glasses in tow, and jogs toward them.

 

“Sorry, Shaun couldn’t find his glasses,” Desmond says when he gets close enough, adjusting the straps of his backpack. “And Grandma Hastings thought you were loiterers.”

 

Connor raises an eyebrow in Altair’s direction. “Told you.”

 

“It’s because of your ridiculous hair, you hobo.”

 

“Actually, she was worried you were scoping out our house for a burglary,” Shaun quips, adjusting his glasses so they sit properly. “She thought your hat was a ski mask.”

 

Altair rolls his eyes even harder and yanks off the beanie that had been doing a fantastic job of keeping his ears warm, and plops it on Desmond’s exposed head instead. “Right. Everyone ready?”

 

At a chorus of agreements, Altair herds the boys toward Malik’s car parked on the curb, grateful not to have to take public transportation with the responsibility of someone else’s child in his care. He pops the trunk and loads Desmond’s and Shaun’s bags in the back, grunting in surprise at the heft of one of the larger ones.

 

“Careful! That’s the Oculus!” Desmond cries, glaring at Altair like he’s just kicked someone’s dog.

 

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Sorry. It’s fine. See?” He lets Desmond peer inquisitively at the bag in question before nodding and hopping into the back with Shaun. Altair feels a headache forming from all the eye rolling.

 

“Are you sure your mom is okay with you staying with us for so long?” Altair asks Shaun as he gets into the car and starts it up. With a quick glance he makes sure everyone is buckled. “It’s basically your entire break.”

 

Shaun nods from the back seat, grinning as Desmond jostles their shoulders together. “My grandparents are visiting and think you lot are an awful influence. Mom says they are posh, and she hopes I come back with a tattoo.”

 

Altair blinks.

 

“How about we start with milkshakes, and revisit the tattoo thing later?” he asks slowly, pulling away from the curb and out onto the street. The boys whoop with glee as he takes the fastest route to Sonic.

 

_-ii-_

Malik and Ezio are raking carefully crafted piles of leaves in the front yard when Altair pulls into the driveway. The car is barely in park before there is a flurry of movement and excited shouts as Desmond and Shaun burst from the backseat and fling themselves headlong into the piles, sending up an explosion of leaves and sticks. The manicured lawn suddenly looks like a warzone.

 

Altair offers a sheepish grin and shrugs at Malik’s suspicious look, which quickly turns into resignation as Altair holds up the paper caddy of milkshakes as an explanation for the bouncing children, and wanders over from the car.

 

“We’re also getting tattoos later,” he says by way of greeting, tugging Malik’s small vanilla milkshake free and handing it over.

 

“I want mine to be a dog!” Shaun’s muffled yell can be heard from somewhere deep within the bowels of the pile. Ezio gathers an armful of leaves and waits for Desmond’s head to pop up before letting go and burying his brother to the sound of delighted giggles.

 

Altair takes his own shake and passes the caddy off to Connor as he walks by to help Ezio throw more armfuls of leaves at the younger boys. They each sip their drinks with one hand and use their free hands to peg Desmond and Shaun with handfuls of leaves each time they poke their heads free of the pile.

 

“Sorry about the yard,” Altair mutters, chewing his straw flat just to annoy Malik and earning a scowl of disgust in return.

 

Malik shakes his head with a sigh. “I suppose wanting to stay on the Homeowner’s Association’s good side was just a pipe dream anyway.”

 

“Especially after the Halloween thing.”

 

Malik snorts. “Don’t remind me.”

 

They stand watching the boys take turns throwing themselves, or being thrown, into the piles of leaves, and eventually make their own way to the porch to take a seat on the steps. Malik is a solid line of warmth against Altair’s side, and he gratefully leans into it as the afternoon sun begins to sink into early evening, and the chilly air turns crisp.

 

“Are you all right?” Malik asks, voice barely above a quiet murmur.

 

He almost wants to pretend he didn’t hear the question, but he can feel Malik’s eyes on him, sharp and calculating, and he knows faking temporary hearing loss would just make this conversation even more uncomfortable. He also considers lying, though doing so would probably earn him a few broken ribs and banishment to the couch for the foreseeable future – which would be absolutely cruel.

 

In the end, he sighs and scrapes a hand through his short hair, dropping his head between his shoulders and dragging out the inevitable. “Not really,” he admits, finally. “It’s been weeks, but I feel like he’s just bidding his time, you know? Just waiting for me to not be paying enough attention.”

 

“That’s not going to happen.”

 

“We don’t know that for sure,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “We don’t know anything.” He feels cold all over, and thinks perhaps the milkshakes weren’t really an appropriate treat considering the weather. Except the chill is in his chest, freezing his lungs and turning his stomach to ice, causing his very bones to ache with fear. It feels like it’s seeping out from his pores, and even though Malik is warm and solid beside him, he feels like an iceberg drifting out into the Arctic sea.

 

“Hey,” Malik bumps his shoulder and waits for Altair to meet his eye. “Nothing is going to happen to them. Altair?” He lifts his gaze again from glancing down at the steps below his feet. “Nothing. I promise. They can complain all they want about feeling smothered, it doesn’t matter. We will keep them safe.”

 

Desmond shrieks with laughter as Connor and Ezio swing him out into open air and let go, sending him sprawling back into the pile of leaves with a puff. Ezio pushes Connor in right after, and throws his head back as he laughs, shoulders shaking. He’s still laughing even as Connor and Desmond team up to yank him in too, and Shaun throws armful after armful over the three of them.

 

Something inside Altair twists with despair, and he wishes they could remain this carefree forever. It’s a childish hope though, he knows, because they were born to be the devil’s playthings, and the monster beneath the bed never rests.

 

Malik’s eyes glitter in the dying light, and Altair wonders how such unfathomable depths can harbor such iron-like resolve. “We can try,” he says at length, hitching his scarred mouth up into the barest of smiles. “But eventually something’s got to give.”

 

This, unfortunately, comes sooner than Altair would have liked.

 

The weekend is spent in a whirlwind of sugar and caffeine, punctuated by the zealousness that comes with every school break and holiday. The younger boys drag sleeping bags and a makeshift tent to the backyard. Connor builds an impressive fire without ever touching the lighter fluid, and Shaun gets s’mores smeared all over his sweater. Desmond comes up with the best ghost stories, even though it’s cut short by Ezio’s best reenactment of Friday Night Horrors, and the boys end up screaming their way back into the house for Malik to fuss over and scrub at their faces with a damp rag.

 

Altair gives up trying to keep down the shouting after the first night, especially once the Oculus is set up, because even he has trouble keeping himself quiet when faced with virtual zombies throwing themselves _right in his face._ Malik, shockingly, even seems to enjoy himself.

 

Somewhat.

 

By the time Tuesday rolls around, Altair feels like a husk, too fuzzed out from all the sugar highs to really manage functioning as a normal human being. Malik, however, takes no pity on his broken, pitiful body and forcefully drags him from the bed. By his foot.

 

“ _Ow_ ,” Altair snaps pointedly, glaring balefully at Malik from the carpet. He feels a lump start to form on the back of his head where it had connected with the floor.

 

“Help me with breakfast. We’re making a spread.”

 

“Why?” He pushes himself up into a sitting position and rubs his abused skull, painfully shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. “And also, _ow_.”

 

“Ezio’s art show is today. He needs to be stuffed full of his favorite food so he doesn’t get a bad attitude when you tell him he has to go.” Malik throws a pair of pants in his direction, followed quickly by Malik’s own college hoodie. Altair slips it on before he can take it back and struggles pulling on the pants without getting up from the floor. “And also, get over it you big crybaby.”

 

Altair waits for him to turn his back before flipping him the bird and climbing to his feet. “I want coffee first.” He barely gets the words out of his mouth before Malik is shoving a steaming mug into his hands with an impatient look, and Altair heaves an explosive sigh. “All right, all right, I’m coming.”

_-iii-_

Even Altair has to admit he’s impressed by the time they are finished. There is a complete mountain of pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, gravy, and the fluffiest biscuits he’s ever seen piled onto their small table. There is even a bowl of mixed fruit – and orange juice.

 

Altair blinks.

 

“Is this meant to be Thanksgiving?”

 

Malik scoffs and makes room for the gallon of milk on the crowded table. “This is child’s play.”

 

Altair’s stomach growls impatiently, and he grabs Malik on either side of his face to plant a sloppy kiss right on his mouth. “I love you. And your food.”

 

“Knock it off.” Malik shoves him away, though Altair can see the pleased grin he’s trying to hide as he turns for the cabinet and grabs down some plates. “Go wake them up. It’s past ten already and it’ll take all day just to get them walking around.”

 

It turns out that Malik is not entirely wrong.

 

Each of his brothers, and a grumpy, rumpled Shaun, have to be woken up three different times, and only venture out of their blanket nests when the smell of breakfast becomes strong enough to penetrate their sleep-addled brains. They mindlessly follow Altair as if he’s the pied piper and they his spellbound coterie, noses in the air.

 

“Wow…” Desmond’s gasp seems to rouse the others as they fall into the kitchen, breaking them from their stupor.

 

“Did someone die? Are we being softened up?” Connor wants to know as he hastily takes a seat and forks a generous helping of bacon and sausage onto his plate. Desmond and Shaun quickly follow suit and tuck into the pancakes.

 

Malik hides a devious smirk behind his coffee mug and takes a sip. “Of course not.”

 

“Look, Ezio! It’s your favorite!” Desmond happily holds a large spoonful of loaded hash browns for Ezio to see, and then just as happily shoves the entire thing into his mouth. Shaun looks equal parts scandalized and delighted, and promptly follows suit.

 

Ezio appears vaguely suspicious as he takes a seat and fills a plate, eyeballing Altair with a look that clearly says he cannot be trusted. Altair merely flashes him a grin and bites a piece of toast as he leans against the counter next to Malik.

 

They wait for the boys to tuck into seconds and thirds, teasing and ribbing as the food disappears with impressive speed, before broaching conversation about the art show.

 

“I had an email from Mr. da Vinci,” Malik starts, and Ezio’s biscuit freezes inches from his open mouth. “He wanted to thank you for turning something in, and to ask if we would be attending the exhibit this afternoon.”

 

“You told him no. Right?” Ezio drops his biscuit and gives both Malik and Altair a pleading look. “Please tell me you said no.”

 

Connor chuckles and says around a mouthful of egg, “I don’t think he said no.”

 

“What’s an exhibit?”

 

“It’s a place to show off things you draw and stuff,” Shaun answers Desmond’s question as he steals some melon from Shaun’s plate. “The high school does it every year during Thanksgiving holiday so students’ families can see what they are thankful for.”

 

“What did you submit, Ezio?” Connor asks, a teasing glint in his eyes visible behind his ridiculous hair.

 

“Nothing,” Ezio grouses. “Just something stupid. We’re not going.”

 

Altair smirks. “Oh, yes we are.”

 

“Altair – “

 

“I’ve assured Mr. da Vinci we are coming,” Malik cuts in, and though his tone allows no room for protest, there’s a certain amount of softness evident when Ezio meets his eye, and he says a little more gently, “He gave your piece a lot of praise. And…I think your brothers would very much like to see what you’ve submitted, Ezio.”

 

Altair frowns slightly at the meaningful look Malik gives Ezio, but decides against interrogating either one of them since doing so would probably send Ezio into an even bigger hissy fit. Besides, he thinks, he can always ask Malik about it when they are alone.

 

Ezio’s mouth twists with a retort. He seems to think better about butting up against Malik and his infamous silver tongue, though, and settles for resignedly finishing his juice and standing up from the table with a muttered “Fine,” and “I’m going to take a shower.”

 

There’s a beat of silence as Ezio’s back disappears down the hall into the bathroom, and then Desmond looks at Malik and asks, “Do we have to dress up?”

 

“You’re polo should be fine. The striped one. And Shaun, I got the chocolate out of your sweater if you want to wear that,” he answers, and turns to drop his mug in the sink and collect said sweater. Altair takes this as his cue to start clearing the empty dishes and Ezio’s plate from the table as Connor finishes eating and starts to help.

 

“Oh, Connor,” Malik pokes his head back into the kitchen, falcon eyes as sharp as a blade. “If you don’t keep your hair out of your face while we’re there, I’m going to shave it off in your sleep.”

 

Connor blinks as Malik disappears again and looks at Altair with wide eyes. “Could he be any more of a mom?”

 

Altair snickers and, not for the first time, finds himself eternally grateful for Malik’s inherent parenting skills.

 

_-_ _i_ _v-_

There are times when he can forget what life had been like before this. Before Malik, before freedom, before they were so incredibly, amazingly, happy. And he’s surprised to find himself forgetting more and more lately – to find himself replacing old memories with new ones, blocking out all the bad and letting them fade away into nothing.

 

Of course, it was harder after their dad showed up so recently, but in spite of that the memories remain as ghosts in the back of his head, gathering dust as they slowly lose their light, blinking out one by one and making room for this new life they have managed to create for themselves.

 

It leaves him breathless, some days. Like someone has snuck inside his chest and is squeezing his lungs and stealing his air. It isn’t painful, not really. But it is scary – to see his brothers laughing and smiling when not so long ago, Altair isn’t even sure they knew what being happy could ever feel like.

 

It feels so impossibly fragile, so fleeting, which is why he’s so adamant when it comes to protecting it; why panic feels so close to the surface, trembling and gasping like a live beast, ready to burst free at a second’s notice.

 

Losing this life – Altair thinks he would die if it ever happened.

 

“Hey,” Malik breaks him from his thoughts with a hand on his wrist. “You missed one.”

 

Altair looks down at his shirt and sighs at the lopsided tails, an extra button dangling free at the bottom. He hears Malik chuckle and glances back up to catch the teasing grin tilting his mouth.

 

“Hopeless,” he chides, and slaps Altair’s hands out of the way before they can do any more damage. He fixes the shirt himself and tucks it in, tugging Altair closer by his belt buckle. “I can see the worry all over your face, Altair. Relax. Everything is fine.”

 

Altair scoffs lightly and bumps their foreheads together, settling his hands on Malik’s hips. “I know. I’m not worried.”

 

“Hmm,” he hums, not convinced in the slightest. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

 

“You _would_ look good in a dress,” Altair teases at length, chuckling at Malik’s eye roll. He tips forward just the slightest to press their mouths together in a sensual, toe-curling kiss, groaning when Malik dips his knuckles suggestively below his waistband and drags them against his stomach.

 

“Tease,” he mumbles into the kiss, nipping Malik’s smirking mouth in reprimand.

 

“If either of us would be in a dress, it would be you,” Malik retorts before pulling away, chuckling at Altair’s disgruntled pout. “Now hurry up. I don’t want us to be late.”

 

With a sigh, Altair shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. As he bends forward to tie them, he feels Malik’s warm hand card through his hair and gently tug, silently reassuring. He lets himself relax and reach up and back, gripping Malik’s wrist with an answering squeeze. They don’t need to say a word. The support and strength between them has always remained unspoken, and Altair prefers it that way. As an invisible force willing to uphold all of the burdens and fears he finds himself unable to voice aloud. His saving grace.

 

“Are you ready?” Malik asks him when he straightens from tying his shoes. He nods and rolls to his feet with a sigh.

 

“Who’s going to check on the moody teenager hiding in the closet?”

 

Malik snorts and gives him a pointed look. Groaning, he flaps his hand in a lazy dismissal of his own question and heads toward Ezio’s bedroom. “Right, fine. I’ve got it. You get the kids in the car and I’ll face the hormone monster.”

 

“Good luck,” Malik calls after him cheerfully.

 

It takes a good amount of strong-arming before Ezio is pried from the confines of his bedroom and frog-marched all the way to the car. There’s even more complaining when Ezio has to squeeze into the backseat with three other bodies, all of which take immense delight in his misery and exacerbate his grief with incessant ribbing.

 

By the time they actually make it to the high school and pile into the auditorium where the showcase is taking place, Altair is seconds from tearing his hair out by the roots and setting the building on fire. Malik, just as frazzled, seems as if he would happily assist in the endeavor.

 

It’s probably a good thing then that Ezio’s teacher chooses that moment to spot them and hustle over, more than likely recognizing the look of absolute mutiny on Ezio’s face and deciding, correctly, that interfering would probably save someone’s life. Altair silently thanks the heavens for sending this blonde haired hippie to play family mediator.

 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” he says with a genuine smile as he approaches the group, and Altair is surprised to feel himself relax. A glance at Ezio has Altair biting back a smirk at seeing his brother look begrudgingly pleased and at ease in the man’s presence. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

 

“We apologize for being late, Mr. da Vinci. Some of us took a little longer getting ready than expected.” Altair gives Ezio a pointed look, and earns a glare in return.

 

“Leonardo, please,” he waves a hand pleasantly and chuckles. “And it’s no trouble. The principal has already welcomed everyone, so, please, have a look around. There are some truly fantastic pieces submitted this year.” He switches his warm eyes to Ezio, who blinks and appears a little dazed at having his bitterness over the situation evaporate so quickly. “Ezio, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve had your submission placed there by the window.”

 

As one, they all turn their heads and look in the direction Leonardo points. There are a few canvas pieces propped up on easels on the other side of the room, displayed in such a way that the late afternoon light filtering through gives them a soft, appealing glow. It has the desired effect of having the pieces in a place of prominence. Even Altair finds himself a little impressed.

 

“Thanks,” Ezio mutters, grimacing just a little at the impending presentation and the looks of absolute glee on his brothers’ faces. Altair narrows his eyes in warning first at Desmond and then at Connor, promising pain and damnation should they misbehave in front of Ezio’s teacher.

 

Leonardo’s smile softens and he gives Ezio an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. Altair gets the distinct impression that he is missing something again, much like in the kitchen when Malik impressed upon Ezio that it was important for his brothers to see his artwork. Altair raises an eyebrow in Malik’s direction, wondering if he should have pressed the issue after all.

 

Malik, catching his eye, merely shrugs and maintains a carefully neutral expression when he asks, “Shall we?”

 

“By all means,” Leonardo gestures for them to lead on and steps to the side. “Come find me if you have any questions. I hope you enjoy the hard work that the students have put into their art.”

 

Convinced he is being deliberately left out of some kind of loop, Altair frowns sharply at Malik and moves to his side as he and his brothers make a beeline for Ezio’s display.

 

“What’s going on?” he hisses, not wanting to alarm his brothers, but unable to hide the little bit of anxiety that creeps into his tone as he and Malik walk behind them. Why all the secrecy? Was something wrong? The questions burn his throat with impatience.

 

“It’s nothing,” Malik whispers back, and Altair swallows an irritated growl. “Just wait.”

 

He starts to demand wait for _what_ , but before he can get the words out, his brothers and Shaun skid to a halt in front of Ezio’s display, and the resulting stunned silence has him dragging his blazing eyes away from Malik to find what has managed to capture their attention so thoroughly.

 

First, he finds himself thinking he had no idea Ezio was so talented.

 

His second thought is wondering how Ezio could remember the exact shade of liquid gold their mother’s eyes could be when she sat reading a book by the kitchen window.

 

The wave of memories is nearly overwhelming, and Altair wonders if he truly staggers on his feet or if it’s just in his head how abruptly the world tilts around him and has him feeling so unbalanced. He can smell her, suddenly – sharp mint softened by warm coconut, the scent of her lotion. Her hair is a cloud of messy, soft curls and frames a childlike face. Desmond’s face, he realizes with a jolt. And her smile, something small and mischievous, it’s Connor’s secret grin. And there, Ezio’s perfectly shaped nose, and – and Altair’s looking back into his own eyes.

 

He can feel her fingers running through his hair. Her arms were always so thin when they wrapped around him, but her chest was warm and safe when she held him against her. It’s her voice, though, that he remembers most clearly. She never sounded like summer, or had a laugh like the tinkling of bells.

 

 She sounded like rain. Quiet as a whisper, and magical in the dark. Her voice was liquid velvet that weaved in and out of the shadows of their home, hiding in corners and beneath the stairs. After she was gone, Altair could stand in the middle of a room and hear her humming faintly through the floorboards, behind the mirrors, the walls, a ghost of a sound that was just as melancholy and forlorn as the soul it came from.

 

She never was one for happiness, too broken and defeated to ever feel such sweet bliss. And yet, he remembers her smile. Only ever for her boys. Only ever for the sons she knew she would be leaving behind. He knew then, even as a child no older than Desmond is now, that she was never theirs to keep. She belonged to the dark and to the whispers, to the demons he couldn’t see.

 

He can’t help but stare at the portrait, thrown by the life-like quality of the painting. Floored by the sense of longing and sadness that wails somewhere deep inside. He isn’t sure how long they stand there, still and silent, but eventually Desmond reaches forward and presses his fingers against their mother’s cheek, breaking the spell.

 

“Is this Mom?” he asks, tentative.

 

Altair finds the ability to breathe again, and does so deeply. Of course Desmond wouldn’t recognize her, he was only a baby when she died. Connor probably doesn’t either, he thinks. They were both so little.

 

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s all he can manage to get out. Next to him, Ezio shifts on his feet and looks at the ground.

 

“She’s…” Connor starts, frowning uncertainly at the strange woman in the painting. Then his eyes land on a familiar shape beside her, and he lets out a soft ‘oh’. The stuffed owl slumps against the window, just as ratty and torn as it’s always been, and Altair wonders if Connor can remember their mom giving it to him. If he remembers her humming as she tucked the owl in beside him and Desmond at night, and how it was the only thing that ever kept them quiet, even after she was gone.

 

Shaun peers hard at the picture, and then back at Desmond with a look of childish concern. “She’s very pretty,” he says solemnly, reaching out to rub Desmond’s back in comfort.

 

Ezio makes a soft sound, as if in agreement, and when Altair glances over at him Ezio’s eyes are unfocused and staring at the empty space next to the easel. Like he’s looking at their mom rather than the flat painting of a memory in front of them. Altair has to turn away from the familiar expression of longing in his brother’s eyes.

 

He feels Malik’s fingers close over his own, and he squeezes back maybe a little too hard. But it’s fine because Malik grips back just as tightly, and Altair slowly feels himself become grounded once more.

 

Finally, he clears his throat and steps closer to Ezio, letting go of Malik’s hand in order to hold the back his brother’s neck and squeeze. “It’s amazing, Ezio,” he says, voice low and quiet. “She looks…She’d be so proud of you.”

 

Ezio glances up at him with a small, grateful smile, something so faint that Altair thinks he imagines it. “Thanks.”

 

“Can we take it home?” Desmond asks, still staring at the painting in awe, and Connor cuts Altair a quick look, eyes burning with the same question.

 

“Of course,” Malik says before he can answer. “Once the showcase is over, we’ll bring it back with us.”

 

He gives Malik a grateful look and nods in agreement. They will give her a true home this time. One where she can finally be happy.

 

_-v-_

They are leaving the school and picking their way through the crowds of families toward the parking lot, when Altair’s phone rings in his pocket. He stops and steps off the side, out of the way, and reads “Dr. Stein” displayed on the screen.

 

“It’s work,” he tells Malik, gesturing for them all to go on and find where they parked. “I’ll catch up in a second.” He answers the call as Malik and the boys walk away, expecting Dr. Stein to ask for him to come in to cover a shift, or to check in on the animals being boarded over the holiday.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Altair,” Dr. Stein says, sounding harried and confused. “Sorry to bother you on your day off, but I’ve had a phone call. It’s – your dad? He says he’s your dad. He’s called the clinic, and I have him on hold.”

 

Altair feels as if someone has suddenly dropped a bucket of ice water over his head.

 

“I tried to tell him you weren’t in today, but he’s insisting he needs to talk to you.”

 

No.

 

“I can redirect the call.”

 

Please. No.

 

“Hold on just a second.”

 

“Wait,” he finally says, panicked. “No, don’t.”

 

“Why?” She sounds even more confused and frantic. “He says he’s been arrested, and you’re the only one who can help him.”

 

“I…what?”

 

“Just hold on, I’ll redirect the call.”

 

Before he can protest further, the line clicks and hums, and then Dr. Stein is back and says, “Okay, I’m going to hang up now. He’s on the line.”

 

There’s a sound of static, and Altair falls back against the brick walls of the auditorium as his legs give out and refuse to support his weight anymore. He can hear jagged breathing through the phone, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s his own gasps echoing through the line.

 

“Hello? You there, boy?”

 

Altair feels as if the phone is scalding the side of his face and he wishes he could fling it away, but it’s welded to his hand and he can’t even manage to move a finger.

 

“Damn it – can you hear me or not? Listen, I need you to come get me.”

 

He sounds impressively drunk. His words are slurred and running together, like his tongue is made of molasses. Altair suppresses a shiver of disgust and fear as he remembers all too clearly the pain that was always a result of his father on a bender.

 

“Stupid sonofabitch walked in front of my car,” his dad snarls, and there’s a thunk like he’s hit his head against the wall. “He wuzzn’t even hurt. Still called the cops on me. Fuckin’ – come get me, all right? I’m in this fuckin’…fuckin’ tank.”

 

He wants to demand how he managed to find out where Altair works, why he thought it would be fine to call in the first place, and why, in the name of God, would he ask his gay loving, kidnapping, failure of a son to bail him out of jail.

 

Bewildered and completely taken off guard, Altair can only stare at nothing and try to remember how to breathe.

 

“Hello?” his dad snaps, obviously furious with Altair’s silence, but too drunk to sound like anything except a mulish little child whining for attention.

 

Altair blinks.

 

It hits him then, like a bullet, like a blow to the head, that a child is precisely what his father acts like. A temperamental toddler who throws a fit when things don’t go his way.

 

And he wonders, then, how it ever was that he could be afraid of him. This man who beat on _children_. Who was so much of a coward that he took his frustration and anger out on ones who were too small and too weak to ever have a hope of fighting back.

 

Had his father always been so pathetic?

 

He can hear him shouting and slurring his words some more through the phone, but Altair has stopped listening. So much time has been wasted fearing this man’s next move, so many days spent in a constant state of anxiety looking over shoulders and staring down the street, expecting at any moment to see that thunderous face bearing down with no chance of an escape. So many sleepless nights and living nightmares – for what?

 

For a man who can’t even take care of himself? A hopeless drunk throwing a hissy fit?

 

Altair feels ashamed then for never hitting back. For never standing up to this man who turned out to be nothing but a bully. A childish, selfish, manipulative little bully.

 

But, then, it was never his fault. Or his brothers’. None of it was ever their fault, and admitting shame over something out of their control, out of Altair’s control, was like saying that their father was blameless.

 

Altair grimaces and finally pulls the phone away from his ear. His father’s voice is reduced to a tiny electronic wailing in his palm. He could let himself keep feeling angry. He could let himself harbor that roiling black hate in his soul like he has since their mom died. He could let all the bitter resentment and rage that has built over the years finally consume him, and confront this petty excuse of a man with all the violence and pain that he himself inflicted upon his children in the past.

 

And maybe it would be enough. Maybe Altair could move on then, could learn to live a normal life.

 

Or maybe he would just be left with all that suffering, in the end. Left to wallow in the self-destruction and chaos his father left behind, like an inherent sickness or an incurable disease.

 

Slowly, almost regretfully, Altair finds himself understanding that it simply wouldn’t be worth it. His father will never come to accept or realize what he did to them, how it hurt them. People like him – they never do see reason. And trying to force it would just be an exercise in futility.

 

“I’m not coming,” he says to the phone. His father’s raving cuts off mid-rant as if a switch has been thrown. “Figure it out yourself.”

 

He ends the call and puts the phone back in his pocket. He doesn’t stop to worry about what kind of consequences his actions will bring, what kind of hell their father will unleash next, because he knows there will be nothing. The man is in jail for drunk driving and running down a pedestrian. If he ever had a hope of reconnecting with his children, then this final act has destroyed that chance in a puff of smoke. The courts will never let him near his kids again, not with his track record, and this wonderful new tic to add onto the tally.

 

Which is just fine, as far as Altair is concerned.

 

He finds his brothers and Malik waiting at the car with Shaun, each of them quietly inspecting Ezio’s portrait and murmuring a comment here and there. He shrugs his shoulders at Malik’s raised eyebrow and moves toward the driver’s side with a reassuring smirk.

 

“It was nothing,” he says as the boys fold themselves into the backseat. “She just wanted to ask about some charts.”

 

Malik nods and follows him into the car. “Home, then?”

 

He smirks wider, chuckling, and says, “One more stop first,” as he pulls out and heads toward Giovanni’s pizza joint down the street.

 

_-vi-_

He tells Malik about it later, of course, and at first he’s just as stunned by the audacity as Altair had been, and furious that a person like their father should think themselves at liberty to make such a call. It’s only when Altair continues to smile and keep silent through Malik’s wrathful tirade and litany of threats that Malik finally calms down enough to sit back and really look at him.

 

“You’re truly okay with this?” he asks eventually, frowning in disbelief.

 

Altair nods. “It’s over.”

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

He shrugs, unable to articulate the feeling of peace that has settled inside, that has brushed away the heavy burden of fear and anxiety from his bowed shoulders and allowed him to stand upright for what feels like the first time in his life. “He was driving drunk and hit a person with his car. They’re not going to just let him walk.”

 

Malik regards him thoughtfully for a long moment, and then sighs. He matches the small smile on Altair’s face with his own and huffs a tired laugh. “Then…I suppose it’s out of our hands.”

 

“Finally,” Altair breathes, and rushes forward to kiss Malik like he’s the sole source of life in this world, and Altair the empty shell of a man slowly coming back from the dead. They tumble to their bedroom in a tangle of limbs and muffled giggles.

 

The following morning, Mrs. Hastings drops by to pick up Shaun, who is still sluggish from the horrendous amount of buffet pizza he’d eaten the night before and proudly sporting an obnoxiously large temporary Hulk tattoo on his forehead.

 

They watch his mother’s eyes widen impossibly further as her son lifts his shirt to reveal the collage of lick-n-stick tattoos decorating his little chest and belly, and even one of a dog inside a heart on his upper arm. Malik pinches the bridge of his nose with a grimace, wondering aloud why he let Altair convince him that cleaning out Giovanni’s tattoo machine was a good idea.

 

Altair only chuckles with barely suppressed glee as Mrs. Hastings gives a thumbs up from the driver’s seat and says loudly, “Bloody brilliant! Let’s go show Gram-Gram you’re lovely ink, darling,” before pulling away from the house and driving off down the street.

 

Malik shakes his head. “That woman is absolutely – “

 

“Amazing!” Desmond interrupts, grinning from ear to ear with his matching Hulk tattoo boldly displayed on his own forehead. “Oh – by the way, Connor’s using the blow torch to unfreeze the turkey.”

 

“ _What_.”

 

“He said Altair told him it was okay.”

 

Altair just barely dodges the shoe flung at his head as he escapes back into the house, Malik hot on his heels and cursing everything from his ancestors down to his ‘stupidly arrogant face’. They stop Connor from burning the house down, much to Ezio’s disappointment, and by the time they sit down for Thanksgiving dinner later in the day, the turkey only tastes slightly charred.

 

And Altair couldn’t be happier.


End file.
